CHAPTER 7—JELLY MAGIC
The compound where Team Rocket imprisoned their most dangerous captives lacked guards. Instead, a five-foot fence strung with alternating strands of barbed wire and smooth wire surrounded the entire area. It kept the Pokémon from escaping and robbers from intruding, as the smooth wire delivered an electric shock when touched.
What he was about to do was somewhat less than inconspicuous, so Logan carefully checked the entire area before he reached for his Pokéball. Someone might still be able to spot him from the building 50 yards away—it was very dark, but there were no trees. However, there was nothing much Logan could do about that. Anyway, he thought, he had better get started. If Rasha and Falcon had already caused some mayhem inside the building the chances of his being spotted were very low, but a rogue watchman that happened to notice a lot of movement in the dark could radio for help in seconds. And that, Logan thought, would be the end of that.
"Okay, Opal," Logan whispered, releasing his magnificent Onix. "Use your horn to cut through this wire."
Opal rumbled softly in her throat. She arched her long neck and carefully moved the stone horn on her head beneath the bottom row of wire. Opal then raised her head, the boulders that made up her body creaking as she strained against the wires' resistance. Then they gave with a mighty twang; Opal's head flew skyward as sparks flew, hissing and crackling, to the grass.
"Good," Logan whispered, withdrawing Opal. He stepped hesitantly over the ruined wires and began to walk across the treeless plain. From the air, Logan realized, it would've actually been quite easy to spot in the middle of the forest. On the other side of the cleared space, Logan could see the silhouettes of three long, low barns. During the day, only Pokémon that the electric fence couldn't stop—rock-, ground-, and flying- types—were kept inside. At night, though, all creatures were penned. If Isaiah was in this area, he would be inside one of the barns right now.
Walking toward the barns, Logan passed an enormous swimming pool. Basically a deep concrete pit, the pool measured about 200 yards by 200 yards. Its bottom lay more than twenty feet away; Logan also saw another electrified fence encircling the entire thing. However, nothing stirred inside the pool and, wondering if it was empty, Logan wandered over to the fence and looked in. At first he saw nothing—not even the bottom of the pool, it was so deep—but then he thought he saw a sinewy shape writhing beneath the waves, growing bigger…
Logan yelped and fell backward as the creature's head broke the water—a dark, yawning maw ringed with glistening white teeth. For a moment, the Gyarados regarded Logan's small form with its slit-pupil eye. Then, with a long, low wail, it slipped back beneath the surface with nary a ripple.
Getting control of his legs again, Logan left the pool quickly and approached the row of barns. They were steel-sided structures with pointed tin roofs covered with sod and tree branches. A heavy lock hung from the door. Once again, Logan picked the lock with his trusty paperclip and entered the dark barn.
Despite the small windows that lined the barn's back wall, Logan could see nothing but dark shapes. The sound of heavy, labored breathing filled the air, mingling with the smells of hay and animal wastes. Nervous, Logan freed Electra, who lit the room instantly with her Flash attack. Logan's heart quivered as a sleeping Rhyhorn awoke with a roar; in the adjacent stalls, he heard the cries of other Pokémon the light had disturbed. The Rhyhorn lunged forward and Logan leaped back as if to run, but the Rhyhorn jerked to a stop before it had gone a foot. When he looked at the Pokémon more closely, he saw that an iron collar had been fastened around its thick neck. A heavy chain connected the collar to a metal pole in the back of the stall.
Logan felt bad, but resolved to ignore the conditions until he found or didn't find Isaiah. He and Electra walked up and down the row of stalls twice. All the Pokémon they saw were large rock-types—Rhyhorns and Rhydons, Gravelers, even an Onix that could barely fit its coils inside the narrow accommodations. Logan left the barn, deeply inhaling the fresh night air before he moved on to the next structure.
Falcon pushed the white door open and fumbled for a light switch. Glaring fluorescent lights flickered into life above her head, illuminating the panes of glass that lined three sides of the narrow room she'd entered. The radio at her belt came alive with static-distorted voices, which Falcon took to mean she'd have company soon. She just wanted to have a good look at this room before she left.
Abra began to wriggle in her arms; Falcon set him down and let him walk around on his own. Stepping further into the room, she peered into a cage on the middle row of the room's right-hand wall. Slumped against the back corner lay a gently quivering, amorphous blob—a Ditto. Its skin looked discolored—an strange gray-purple rather than the glowing pink of a normal Pokémon—but proved it was still in good spirits as it pressed itself against the glass and smiled at Falcon with its cartoony little face.
"Abraaa," Abra hissed softly, placing his three-fingered hands against a cage on the bottom row. His wise, crescent eyes closed thoughtfully as he spoke mind-to-mind with the creature inside. Falcon leaned down and looked; another Ditto. In fact, every cage in the room held a Ditto, each one a different size and each with its own unique shade of pink or purple.
What's going on? Falcon mused. Dittos… what could Team Rocket want with so many Dittos? What kind of experimentation are they conducting?
Abra stiffened, and Falcon too heard the footsteps racing down the hall. Falcon looked sadly at the happy little face smushed against the glass, wishing there was something she could—
Quite suddenly, Falcon noticed the ominous hum in the air. She covered her face just in time as the windows shattered. A hail of glass cascaded down; the beads struck Falcon but leaped from Abra's psychic aura like fleas.
With a series of soft plops, Dittos rolled out of their prisons, unaffected by the broken glass on the floor, and moved toward their new heroes. Falcon felt cool, jelly-like bodies rolling up her pant legs. She shivered as she felt one ooze down the back of her neck.
The door to the lab rattled on its hinges as Falcon's adversaries began to kick it in. She looked down at Abra, who wandered over with Dittos draped over his head and shoulders. She gently lifted her Pokémon. The thrum filled her ears again with a much more gradual crescendo than before. Another kick shook the door. Falcon leaned her face against Abra's head and felt the Dittos' cold flesh against her cheek as the room disappeared.
Rasha walked through the holding room in a stooped-over position, looking through the bottom row of cages for the second time. Cages lined every space of the room but a pathway from the door to the fire escape, and so far Isaiah had been in none of them. Having to bend down put her in a vulnerable position. She glanced nervously back at the Rockets who slept on the floor. By Rasha's watch, an unbelievably slow ten minutes had passed, and still Byron and his partner showed no signs of life. Zelda stood watch over them while Rasha searched for Logan's Zapdos. Houndour also roamed the room, sniffing madly at the cages.
The back of Rasha's neck began to prickle. She turned her head and Falcon suddenly appeared out of thin air, her Abra in her arms. Both of them were covered in blobs of pink and purple jelly.
"Isaiah's not in the lab," Falcon said. "Rockets are heading down there right now. Any luck?"
Rasha pointed a finger at a happy-faced little blob on Falcon's head. "Is that a Ditto?" she asked.
Falcon nodded. "They're all that was in the lab."
"Well, I haven't found Isaiah, either. There're so many cages in here, I haven't even seem them all yet. Can you believe how crammed this room is?"
Falcon shook her head. "Well, let's keep looking. I don't know how long it'll be before reinforcements get here. We better hurry." Falcon set Abra down and began inspecting the cages as well.
Suddenly, a glass capsule on top of a row four cages high caught Rasha's eye. She had to get up on her tiptoes to reach it. It tilted sideways as she took it down, and a muffled screech came from inside. "I found him!" Rasha exulted. Falcon hurried over to look. Sure enough, a tiny ball of yellow feathers huddled on the capsule's bottom. Seeing Rasha and Falcon's familiar faces, he stretched his head up and whistled happily.
"Don't worry, Isaiah, we'll get you out of here." Rasha tried to twist the top off the capsule; it stuck tight.
Falcon walked over to Abra and picked him up, carrying him back over to Isaiah. "Abra, do you think you have enough energy for one more psychic attack?" she asked the Pokémon aloud. "I know you're a little drained after rescuing the Dittos, but just try once more and then you can rest." Abra nodded.
Rasha set the capsule down in the middle of the floor and backed away. Abra approached it and laid his paws on the glass. Psychic energy buzzed in the air, then diminished to a dead silence. At first, Falcon thought Abra's strength had given. Then all at once, a noise like a gunshot went off, and the capsule's top broke open.
Rasha reached in and pulled Isaiah out, scratching her arm on the hole's jagged edges, while Falcon returned the exhausted Abra to his Pokéball.
A knock came to the door just then. Rasha and Falcon froze, perfectly silent.
"Hello? Byron, Natasha, are you in there?" The Rocket knocked again. They heard him mutter to his comrades, "They're not there. Break it down."
BANG! The door shook violently as the Rockets struck it again and again. Quickly and quietly, Rasha and Falcon ran to the fire escape, the frightened Dittos crawling up into their clothes as they went. Pichu scooted down inside Falcon's jacket and buried his face in her neck. Falcon yanked the window open—there wasn't really any point in being stealthy now, anyway—and she and Rasha stuck their heads out. Down at the bottom of the fire escape, five Rocket guards looked up at them.
The girls pulled their heads in and slammed the window. Each deafening kick to the door rang off the holding room's walls. Rasha and Falcon looked at each other with mutual fear. They couldn't teleport out, and now their only escape was blocked. In minutes, the Rockets would swarm in on them.
BANG! One kick closer to getting in. BANG! BANG! BANG!
Logan backed fearfully away from the roaring, angry Kangaskhan until he remembered all the Pokémon in here were chained into their stalls. Still, he made sure to stay at least three feet out of her chain's limit. The Pokémon roared angrily, churning the earth with her tree-thick clawed feet. Only when she lay back down did Logan dare venture farther into the shed. He looked up and down the stalls again—two more Kangaskhan, a Fearow, two Tauros. No baby Zapdos.
Logan left the shed, suddenly sure he was wasting his time here. Isaiah may have been a Zapdos, but he was just a baby. He doubted Team Rocket was nervous enough about him to chain him up in a metal shed with monsters like these. He looked back toward the Rocket building and saw, to his dismay, the frenzied dance of guards' flashlights. Falcon and Rasha could be in trouble back there, he thought. Maybe he should give up the search here as futile and go back for them. Perhaps, he thought, one of them had already found Isaiah. He could only hope.
As he closed the shed's door, Logan heard a low, rumbling wail from the direction of the pool. He shuddered, reliving the image of the Gyarados' head busting through the water's surface. Even with the electrified fence, he didn't like having the dragon Pokémon so near to him. Then Logan's ears picked up another sound—the sound of feet shuffling through the coarse grass.
Logan whirled around. Another man stood before him, his hair hanging over his eyes, his unzipped leather jacket drifting about his waist.
"Seems you decided to come back after all," the man said, his teeth flashing in a cruel smile. "I knew you and I would see each other again."
Logan felt his mouth tighten. Electra moved forward, her glowing body casting a faint light on the man's face. "Gordon," he said. "Just out of curiosity, how did you know to come look for me here? Or have you just been searching the entire compound for me?"
"I hardly needed to," Gordon said, his brown eyes flashing beneath overhanging locks of hair. "Simple process of elimination. And since the holding room and the lab were already covered…" Gordon's grin broadened, "…I just figured someone had to be out here."
"How clever of you," Logan said pleasantly. "No time for chatting with old friends, though." He brushed past Gordon and began walking briskly across the grass.
"Hold it, Matthews," Gordon called.
Logan turned around. "Yes?"
"Nothing personal," Gordon said. "But I worked very, very hard to set up that heist. I can't let you back in there."
Logan's hand knotted around a Pokéball. "Well, then we have a problem, don't we?" he growled, detaching it from his belt.
Gordon removed a Pokéball from his belt. Logan faced him confidently—he had always been the better trainer. Perhaps that was why Gordon hated him so.
"Voltorb!" Gordon cried, breaking the grand pause as he threw his Pokéball.
Logan reacted, his arm snapping forward. Weaver spilled out of his Pokéball, mandibles clicking, to face Gordon's round electric Pokémon.
"Weaver, Agility," Logan said, relying on his experience battling Gordon in the past. Voltorb moved quickly and had the ability to paralyze, but it didn't have a lot of stamina. If he could make it waste its electrical energy, it would be an easy win.
Gordon's reacted in perfect accordance to Logan's plan, too. "Voltorb, Thunderwave!" The round Pokémon spun furiously, throwing electricity here and there, aiming for the tiny six-legged whirlwind that blazed around and around it. It fired six times in succession before coming to a stop.
"Poison Sting!" Logan ordered calmly. Weaver fired a barrage of needles at Voltorb—hopefully, Logan thought, poisoning him and speeding the battle along. He was anxious to get back to the building and see how Rasha and Falcon fared.
"Rapid Spin, now!" Gordon said.
Voltorb shook off the Poison Sting attack and began to spin furiously. Weaver hopped to the side and fired at Voltorb's back when it zoomed by. The needles knocked Voltorb off its course; it spun out of control and came to rest on its side.
"Now, use a Giga Drain to finish!" Logan said.
Weaver raced forward and pierced Voltorb's enamel-hard shell with his mandibles. Green light flashed in the darkness. Weaver pulled away; Voltorb fainted.
"Return!" Gordon spat. "I see you haven't shirked on your training, Logan."
"Of course not. My Pokémon are my family… a concept a lowlife such as yourself could never hope to understand."
"You hypocrite," Gordon retorted. "You may be stronger than me, but I remain loyal to the family that puts food on my plate… a concept a traitor such as yourself could never hope to understand."
"What you call family is no more than a syndicate of greedy bastards working together for their own purposes," Logan said. "But I'm through wasting my breath on you. Goodbye."
He walked away from Gordon, his stride hasty and anxious as he hurried toward the building surrounded by prowling guards. Stay hidden, Rasha, he thought. For Gods' sake, stay—
The earth shook and Logan felt steamy breath on his legs. A rocky behemoth crouched behind him, pawing the earth with legs whose bones were harder than steel. It lowered its head into a charge position, forcing Logan to freeze.
"No… so sorry, Logan, but I just can't let you go," Gordon said. "I just worked too damn hard for this to let a treacherous son of a bitch take everything away from me."
Logan felt his face burning with rage; he had to fight to keep his trembling arms from reaching for the seizure rifle. "Bastard," he snarled. "That's not even your Pokémon."
"It is, because it's my family's Pokémon," Gordon snarled. "Bet you wish you were still a part of us."
Falcon struck the first man in the doorway in the stomach and flung him into the woman behind him. Rasha's Houndour tore viciously at a second man's leg while Rasha struck him across the face. Falcon charged around the corner and dashed madly down the hall, her arms wrapped tight around the little Zapdos, while Rasha ran in the opposite direction.
Someone came out of a doorway. Falcon blew past him, knocking him into the wall as she ran. The man gave chase, shouting into his radio as he ran. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a male and female Rocket a yard behind him.
Falcon skidded around a corner. There were elevators, but they'd take too much time. She saw rails down at the very end of the corridor, indicating a stairway. She dashed madly toward them, her cargo pressed tightly against her chest.
The man from the doorway charged straight into her and down they went. She flailed with her left elbow, holding Isaiah close with her right hand. A lucky shot found his eye. By now, the other two had found her. The man she'd hit and the woman tried to restrain her arms while the other man groped her, trying to locate Isaiah. She kicked hard and low; he went down and she ripped her arms out of the others' grip. She dashed madly down the stairs, but her pursuers didn't follow. As she half-fell, half- ran down to the first floor, she heard the Zapdos' shrill screams echoing behind her.
The Rhyhorn charged furiously, throwing chunks of earth out behind it like a bulldozer. Opal met it head-on with a Tackle; the two ground their heads together fiercely, roaring and snarling to wake the dead.
"Go to hell," Logan snarled at Gordon. "And take your family with you."
"Fury Attack," Gordon ordered tersely.
The Rhyhorn broke contact with Opal's head; the Onix's neck shot forward like a jack-in-the-box. Rhyhorn leaped at Opal, bashing into her with its sharp horn. It struck her again and again, gouging her neck and head while she roared in pain.
"Opal, use Harden! Get up and out of its range!" Logan cried. Opal's body flashed. Slowly, swaying like a cattail in the wind, she began to lift her head.
"Horn Drill!" Gordon ordered.
A high whine pierced Logan's ears—was the Rhyhorn's horn spinning?—as Rhyhorn charged madly, moving insanely fast for something so huge and heavy. Opal lay, large and helpless, in its path. Rhyhorn struck with the force of a tank. Chips of rock flew into Logan's face as it bored into her.
"Return!" Logan screamed as Opal's graceful neck began to sink, and the defeated Onix disappeared.
"Rai," Electra murmured. Logan shook his head at her. Electra could only defeat Rhyhorn if the rock Pokémon happened to open its mouth. He didn't want to take that risk, especially after witnessing that horrible Horn Drill attack. Weaver, he thought, could out-maneuver Rhyhorn and perhaps blind it with String Shot. He would try that.
"Go, Weaver! Use Agility, and when you get an opening aim a String Shot at Rhyhorn's eyes!"
"Stomp, now!" cried Gordon.
Weaver wove in and out of Rhyhorn's thundering hooves. Logan felt sick to his stomach, watching the Ariados' soft red body darting in and out of that avalanche. At last, Weaver managed to back up in front of Rhyhorn and attack. A flurry of stringy ropes covered Rhyhorn's face. The Rhyhorn roared and thrashed, one eye plastered completely shut and the other obstructed by overhanging strands. It shook its head furiously, but did no more than to whip the strings around, spattering both Pokémon trainers with white flecks.
"Okay, Weaver," Logan said coldly. "Try your Giga Drain now, but be careful!"
Weaver scuttled around to the panicked Rhyhorn's back. He bit at its rear hoof, trying to permeate Rhyhorn's rocky skin while Rhyhorn stomped and roared. At last, Weaver's bite struck a nerve. The Rhyhorn's roar rose to a scream. It kicked its leg wildly, striking Weaver in the head and knocking him instantly unconscious. He flew through the air, useless legs spinning in a bunch behind him, and struck the ground with a thud.
"Return!" Logan snarled.
Electra leaped forward, cheeks blazing. The Rhyhorn seemed to regain control of itself; it settled down onto all fours and studied Electra with its sole functioning eye. Then it charged, a four-legged stampede, churning the earth into froth. It raised its head, throwing all its power into the charge, and as it did so its triangular head split wide into a roar, and at that moment Electra freed the electricity that had built to a climax in her body. Once again the Rhyhorn's roar soared upward in pitch; its eyes rolled white in its head as its feet betrayed it, splaying out from under its massive, hurtling body as momentum carried it forward and into Electra like a train wreck. The Raichu's frail orange body was swallowed in a discharge of grass and mud and rock-flesh. At last, all was silent.
Gordon stood, mouth agape in the same death-loll as the Rhyhorn's. Logan cried out his Pokémon's name, "Electra!" as he rushed forward, sick with horror. He dug through the churned-up ground beneath the fallen Rhyhorn's head and drug out Electra's beaten, mud-soaked body. He wrapped his arms around her limp form and felt her heart throbbing against his forearm. A feeling of terror melded with cold relief swept over Logan like a wave.
Then there came a gasp—a cumbersome, heavy sound like the puff of a steam engine. The Rhyhorn's leg kicked, scraping at the earth until it found a grip. It swayed to its feet, huffing madly, a small, rising, mud- covered hill. Its one blood-red eye blinked away the black earth, shining like pearl and ruby out of the grime.
The earth shook, and the creature was charging him, swaying as it ran but on course. Slow to grasp the concept, Logan could never have run in time. In those moments of startling clarity before the impact he screamed out to Gordon, shouting for him to stop the monster's rampage, and then he flew, breathless, his heart discontinuing its rhythm until he returned to earth. The creature continued over him—so large it was that all feet flew past him but one, which came down on his left thigh with a crunch—the sound so much worse than the feeling at that moment—that seemed final, but in fact was only the beginning of agony. Not until the creature had fully passed did he realize the full extent of it, and then he felt he would pass out from the pain, his arms constricting defensively around Electra's body. Gordon's shadow loomed over him and his wide, triumphant eyes glowed malevolently, sharply in contrast to the shadows manifested on his face. The earth began to shake, and Logan knew Rhyhorn had doubled back. Gordon's hideous, shadow-distorted face swam in front of him.
And then, the wind began to blow… a cool, cleansing wind that came from the North. An unearthly roar accompanied it; the wind doubled in strength, whipping Logan's hair into his eyes, and then there came a roar like rushing water, drowning out the Rhyhorn's scream.
Logan opened his eyes to the sky in time to see the lithe blue body, its white markings shining brighter than the stars, soaring over his head, and he felt such a tranquil, stilling awe settle into him that the pain in his crushed thigh was momentarily forgotten.
Suicune uttered a low growl. Gordon, the triumph cast from his eyes, backed away in fear. "It… can't be," he whispered.
A hissing sort of gunshot rang out just then; Gordon's face convulsed and he yelped in surprise as a condensed bolt of light struck him in the neck. Milky white filled his eyes as he crashed to earth.
"A bit hasty, Damon," a silky female voice behind him said.
"Won't kill th' bastard… jus' knock him out," another voice, coarser and male, replied. "Don't do to have witnesses. Usin' a Pokémon like that around Rockets…"
"I know." Suicune disappeared into his Pokéball, and then Falcon knelt next to Logan. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Logan nodded stiffly. "I think my leg could be broken." Then he added, "What's going on?"
"The Rockets are onto us. They're swarming the building like ants," Falcon said gravely. "We have to go back for Rasha."
Logan's heart fluttered. "Is she okay?"
"I don't want to worry you, but she's sorely outnumbered." Turning to her companion, who still stood back where Logan couldn't see him, she said, "Damon, bring the car around, okay?"
"I'll hafta see if I can git through that fence," Damon said, jogging off. "Sit tight!"
Giovanni rose eagerly as the door to his office opened. Minutes earlier, two Rocket teams had broken into the holding room. Mirkana Falcon, he was disappointed to learn, had escaped. However, according to Gregory Black—who was in for a big promotion, Giovanni thought, along with George Kerrigan, Rachel Forman, and Sandra Brady—radioed in with the news that the Zapdos had been reclaimed. Now the four stepped into his office, sure enough, grasping a screaming bundle of yellow feathers.
"Excellent, excellent!" Giovanni praised his beaming subordinate. "Well done, all of you!"
"Thank you, sir," Black replied.
"Thanks to you, we have not lost another legendary Pokémon," Giovanni replied. "I'm sure you can all be expecting promotions for this display of professionalism in a time of crisis." He paused for the chorus of pleased exclamations from the group. "However," he said. "I'm interested to know where the esteemed Ms. Falcon is now?"
Rachel Forman spoke up. "She fled down the east staircase, sir. After that, there were no more reports of her."
Giovanni nodded, peeved not for the first time at Falcon's annoyingly successful ways of getting in and out of buildings. Had she just run out the front door? He'd have to have a long talk with those guards once all this fuss was over with.
"But at any rate, sir, we managed to take back the Pokémon before she gave us the slip," Black said, his boyish face twisting into a cheeky sort of grin that Giovanni found irritating. "We nabbed the little guy and she ran off without even knowing it." He held the squirming Pokémon up for Giovanni to see.
Giovanni nodded. "Yes, and I suppose that's what's impor—"
He had to stop short, because all of a sudden the Zapdos began to melt in Black's hands. The young Rocket looked confused at Giovanni's startled expression. Then all of a sudden the liquefying yellow mass slipped through his hands like Jell-O, landing on the floor with a sickening plop as it continued to lose shape. Its orange beak disappeared, becoming a simple little face that smiled up at Giovanni. Black shouted and stooped to grab the creature, but it slipped under his hands and, moving absurdly quickly, squeezed through the gap beneath the door.
The four Rockets stared at the door with stupefied expressions. Then they turned back to the livid Giovanni.
"FOOLS!" he roared, making them all cringe like whipped dogs. "Can't you even tell a Zapdos from a Ditto?!"
The Rockets looked at one another, not daring to answer.
"Get out!" Giovanni roared. "Find Mirkana Falcon and the other intruders, and bring me the real Zapdos chick! And make absolutely sure it's the real one, or you'll be in a world of hurt!"
With a collective squeak of "Yes, sir!" the four Rockets scuttled out of the room.
Flashlights beamed obtrusively out of the black-canvas background, blinding Rasha as she hurtled forward. She stopped and raised her hand. Seeing the guards beneath what could have been miniature suns, they seemed so bright, Rasha turned to go back the way she came. However, the guards that had chased her into this bunch closed in from behind. Rasha began to feel trapped and panicky. While they formed a semi-circle around her, keeping their blinding lights on her face, she snapped out her seizure rifle and aimed it at the line of Rockets. "Don't move!" she screamed. She intended to sound intimidating, but her voice emerged dismayingly shrill. The unimpressed men and women pressed in closer.
Rasha wrapped her forearm tighter around her middle, supporting the real Isaiah, who hid inside her shirt. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could Pokéballs in the grips of many Rockets.
A man grabbed her roughly by the arm as she stood stupidly, unable to figure a way out. "Put your hands up where we can see them," he ordered. Frightened, Rasha whirled around and struck him by accident with the weapon. He shouted in pain and clutched his nose; the rest of his entourage pressed in closer, and another set of hands closed around her other arm. She struggled furiously as they swarmed over her, trying to grab for her Pokéballs. One of her flailing hands managed to knock one free. It opened. A woman screamed in pain as Bayleef flogged her with her vines. While the rest were distracted, she shook free and barreled through the crowd. The roar of a mob followed her and soon inhuman cries of Pokémon joined them. The cold night air felt sharp in Rasha's lungs as she ran; she held Isaiah firmly, her heart and mind racing. A dark wall of trees danced in front of her. She could make it into the trees and escape. She'd hide until morning; no one would find her in the dark and… why suddenly did her legs feel so weak?
Rasha fell, somehow thinking to roll to her side so as not to crush Isaiah. But she couldn't get up again. Her muscles felt like broken rubber bands. She heard a Weepinbell's voice behind her and realized it had probably used Stun Spore on her. Tears of frustration came to her eyes as Logan's picture danced before her eyes. She'd failed him… utterly failed him. After everything, it would end here outside the Team Rocket building. A wall of hands pressed in on her body; an unstoppable injustice that she couldn't fight in any way. She felt helpless… useless… and alone.
All of a sudden, a bright light shone in her eyes. Something landed in the dirt—a stone? she thought. A man screamed into her ear and she felt a droplet hit her cheek. Another fell in the dirt where she could see it… blood.
The next few minutes, when she later recalled them, were nothing but a blur. She heard a sound like a rain of arrows and was aware of Isaiah's squirming against her. Hands clawed at her clothes, and then the feeling of strong arms wrapped around her against her cheek. The man carrying her practically shoved her through a car door before leaping into the driver's seat himself; Rasha's head bumped against a seat as the car lurched forward like a stung horse. "What… what's going on?" she croaked at last.
"Rasha…" she heard a familiar voice say. She looked into the back of the car and saw Logan stretched out across the back seat, one leg supported by a rolled-up blue jacket.
"Logan!" she said, trying to sit up before she remembered the Stun Spore. Then she felt arms pulling her upward.
"Close your eyes," Falcon ordered, aiming a tiny aerosol can at her. Rasha obeyed and Falcon proceeded to spray a fine mist over her whole body. While she worked, she said, "This is Paralyze Heal. We saw a Weepinbell attack you."
"Yeah," Rasha said. The muscles in her face already felt stronger. Isaiah squirmed inside her shirt when Falcon sprayed him, reminding her that he was there. When the strength returned to her arms, she pulled him out and gave him to Logan.
"Isaiah!" Logan gasped, taking the little Zapdos in his arms. He looked at Rasha with an expression of eternal gratitude. "Thank you, Rasha."
Rasha smiled at him. "What happened to your leg?" she asked.
"A Rhyhorn," he replied with a grimace.
Rasha climbed—a bit shakily on her Stun Spore-weakened limbs—into the backseat. She lifted Logan's head and sat in the seat where it had been, laying him back down in her lap. Logan couldn't have kept her from doing it even if he'd wanted to. The warmth of Rasha's body permeated his clammy skin. Isaiah's soft body curled up against his neck. He closed his eyes and relaxed, ignoring the speeding car's jerks and bounces and even the pain they brought to his broken leg.
While Logan rested, Rasha looked up and happened to catch a glance at the driver's face in the rearview. "Hey!" she gasped in shock.
"What is it?" Falcon asked, turning around.
Rasha pointed in disbelief. "I recognize you!" she said. "You're the guy from the Pokémart!"
"What?" Logan opened his eyes and raised his head, studying the thin- faced man with his ratty shadow of a mustache.
"Come to think of it, there's something else familiar about you, too," Rasha thought out loud.
The man Falcon called Damon laughed. "To tell you the truth, Miss Rasha, I've been keepin' an eye on you for some time now," he confessed.
His accent rang a bell in Rasha's mind. She remembered that fateful day in the Pokémon Center, when she had waited for Logan in the waiting room. "Joel!" she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Joel?" Logan inquired. "Do you know him, Rasha?"
Falcon cut in before Rasha could reply. "His name is Damon, and he's a friend of mine. He isn't a thief or a spy—I asked him to keep an eye on you."
"You, Falcon?" Rasha exclaimed. "But why—"
"Uh-oh…" Damon adjusted the review mirror and then Rasha saw the reflection of his eyes staring at her. "I'll explain everthing later. Right now, looks as if we're bein' followed."
Rasha jerked her head around. A line of single headlights danced in a line behind the car. As soon as she saw them, Rasha could faintly hear the drone of motorcycle engines. The bikes' cycloptic headlights grew brighter and brighter, until she could see the Rockets' faces in the splash of the car's rear lights. They swarmed the car, inching steadily up along its sides like jackals surrounding a wildebeest.
"Buckle up," Damon gritted.
Too late in reacting, Rasha couldn't secure her seatbelt before Damon floored the car. She flew forward, her head bashing into the seat in front of her. Pain shot into her neck. She recovered and snapped her seatbelt on with shaking hands.
The Rockets' bikes fell behind and then began matching pace, dancing in a horribly dangerous fashion around the car. Damon drove blindly, unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. Rockets near the car's sides drew stun weapons and beat the vehicle with them. Damon swerved, trying to shake them. The car's side dinged a Rocket that got too close; he flew out of control and rolled end over end into the line of trees.
Logan couldn't see what was going on from his position; he shivered with Isaiah pressed against his chest, feeling exactly as Isaiah looked—a small, helpless, quaking ball of terror. His face scrunched up into knots of pain as his leg jarred against the car's door. Blood ran over his lip as his teeth involuntarily dug into it.
A gunshot smash rang out. One of the car's front headlights went dark. Damon swore madly, his face contorted and livid. The vehicle veered from side to side; its bumper struck another bike's fender, sending him tumbling off the road, and when Damon looked up he saw the car's one good eye highlighting the curve in the road. He slammed the wheel to the side. Caterwauls rose from without and within the vehicle; a woman's head with rolling eyes struck the window briefly, eliciting screams from the passengers, and disappeared in a grotesque, lolling fall. The car rose onto two wheels and skidded around the corner, its balance an instant failure at that speed. A desperate reflex seized Logan and he rolled over, covering Isaiah with his body as the horizon spun a three-sixty outside the window. Pain shot through his head and a typhoon of screaming metal surrounded him.
Silence came slowly and as a shock. Like a rebooting computer, Logan's mind ever so slowly pieced together the scene. The pain in his leg came into focus and rose to a sickening crescendo that threatened to overwhelm him. Rasha's hair swayed down into his face; he looked up to see her still secure in her seatbelt, still sitting in her seat. His heart pounded wildly. How many of them had survived? Isaiah wailed miserably, drawing blood from his arms as he struggled in wild fright.
The car's left window exploded just then. Glass flew onto Logan through the curtain of Rasha's hair; he heard her gasp of fright. An arm entered the gaping hole. Its gruesome hand—Logan didn't think of it as a human appendage, just as a hand with its own mind and will—clamped around Isaiah like a vice. Logan, impervious to panic in his state of shock and agony and confusion, watched with dim, uncomprehending eyes. Through the mist, he heard a sharp crackle and what he later realized was a human howl of pain, and Isaiah dropped back onto his chest. Logan's traumatized mind was at last overwhelmed, and he shut down.
It took Rasha's mind several minutes to realize what had happened. At first, all she could perceive were bright lights shining through the cars windshield and a horrible, continuous wail that made her temples throb. However, she was unable to identify either. Presently she realized she hung upside down from the ceiling, her seat belt holding her in place. Her position offered her a view of the front seat. She could see Falcon hanging lifelessly, her back resting against the back of the seat and her legs dangling freely so that she had almost folded in half. Damon's condition seemed just as uncertain, but before she had worried long a hand shattered the window near her head. Pieces of glass gouged her face—she prayed they would miss her eyes—and then she heard a sharp crackle and a scream. When the moment had passed for several seconds, she became aware of voices outside. Opening her eyes slowly—her head and neck both caused her great pain, and the lights and noise only magnified it—she saw a face peering through the window. She stared, allowing her mind to absorb information. The woman she saw had blue hair and wore a blue uniform. All of a sudden her mind realized that the awful noise was the police car's sirens.
"Ma'am, are you all right?" the young officer asked in a concerned tone.
Afraid to nod, Rasha groggily said, "Yes."
"Don't worry! We'll get you out of there in a second!" The officer pulled up a bullhorn and shouted, in a voice that made Rasha cringe, for someone to call the paramedics.
The next sequence of events blended together in an unintelligible jumble. The paramedics somehow got everyone out of the car. No one had died; Falcon and Logan were unconscious and would be taken to the hospital. Something the young female officer said finally caught Rasha's ear:
"This man is dressed in a Team Rocket uniform," she said. "Could these four have been involved with the others we arrested?"
"Logan wasn't involved," Rasha said. The officer didn't hear her. She repeated herself more loudly and this time caught the officer's attention.
"He wasn't? What happened?" she asked.
Rasha gingerly shook her head, pressing her hand against her throbbing forehead. The officer seemed to understand. "We'll discuss that when you've all been treated. Right now, though, we've got to get all of you to the hospital." Rasha surrendered, allowing the officer to lead her to the ambulance. As she stepped into the back of the enormous white car, Rasha saw the men in white wheeling Logan to the adjacent ambulance. His oxygen-masked, lacerated face held the trace of a contented smile. His left hand rested on his stomach, sheltering a small yellow creature that had happily fallen asleep curled up against his savior.
All of the car's passengers suffered only superficial injuries and were quickly released from the hospital. Later, their testimony led to the arrest of the six Team Rocket members that had assaulted their car. However, the police had no luck extracting any information as the location of Team Rocket's headquarters.
Giovanni was absolutely livid when he learned of his guards' incarceration, but was even more so at their failure to recover the Zapdos. Team Rocket headquarters was hell for weeks due to his horrible mood. For much of Team Rocket, prison might have been a sanctuary.
So it was with trepidation that Barrett Jefferson nudged open the door to Giovanni's office. He expected a negative reaction, and was not disappointed. "What is it?" Giovanni snarled.
Jefferson adjusted his glasses nervously. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir—"
"Well, you are. What is it this time?" Giovanni interrupted.
Jefferson cringed, his brow covered in sweat, and continued. "If you remember, sir, Gordon Biggs was admitted to the medical facility the night of the incident?" He paused, but Giovanni didn't say anything more. "Well, he's just begun talking today, and it seems what he has to say may be of inter—"
"Quit wasting my time and just get to the point," Giovanni snapped, massaging his temples. "I don't have time to listen to irrelevant business, so if what you're saying isn't of importance, please leave. I have my hands full cleaning up after the mess all of you made."
"Yes, sir. Anyway, Biggs said that he witnessed a legendary Pokémon during his encounter with one of the intru—"
"What kind?"
"He says it was a Suicune, sir. His description sounds believable, but he was hit with a seizure rifle quite close to his head and may—"
"Did he say which intruder might have owned this Pokémon?" Giovanni cut in again. He had been pacing the room before, his large hands knotted behind his back, but now he sat and folded them on his desk, giving Jefferson his full attention.
"He said he saw a female accompanying it, sir, but he wasn't able to identify it."
Giovanni nodded and remained silent just long enough that Jefferson began to feel uncomfortable. Just when he was about to open his mouth, though, the boss spoke again. "I'll admit an investigation. Are there any unassigned teams?"
"I'll check my files, sir," Jefferson replied, hurrying out of the room. After a few minutes, he returned. "Actually, we do have a team free. Trevor Heinrich and Amanda Flores. They've been with us for three mo—"
"Yes, yes, yes. How's their record?" Giovanni asked.
"Very good, sir, all good things. They've had—"
"Good." Giovanni leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as he spoke. "Tell Heinrich and Flores they're on special assignment. They're to locate Mírkana Falcon and trail her. They're to focus their attention on obtaining the Suicune and also report any and all occurrences they deem unusual. Anything at all. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You're dismissed."
"Thank you, sir." Jefferson put his hand on the door and looked over his shoulder hesitantly before letting himself out.
Jefferson stopped for a moment to breathe once outside Giovanni's office. The hall seemed deserted; it was only him and the file folder he clutched under his arm, and it seemed he had privacy to clear his thoughts. He stared back at Giovanni's office, recollecting that secret sinking feeling in his stomach when he'd listened to Biggs rambling on and on in the medical facility. He actually reached his hand out, letting the feeling clutch at him a little. Subduing the small itch in his mind, he turned away and wandered slowly down the hall, taking his time.
Jefferson knew he ought to turn Matthews in—as an ex-Team Rocket member, his logic airily dictated, he posed more danger than any other outside enemy. He paused to look back the double doors again, but his feet refused to take him back. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and looked at the patterned carpet beneath his shiny business shoes. Yeah… he should turn in Logan… he was a traitor, after all—and not only to Team Rocket. It had just about killed him to hear Logan was dead. Logan could've at least contacted him… saved him all that grief. Here was his opportunity to retaliate a little.
Shaking his head, Jefferson continued walking. Nah, he thought. I can't sell Logan out like that. Getting left behind hurt, but who knew if Logan had really forgotten about him? And besides, deep down, Jefferson felt happy for his old friend. Inside the darkest reaches of their hearts, everyone hated the job. They hated it, but could never get away because it was all they had. Logan had broken that chain, and Jefferson felt as happy as he would have for a friend that had managed to kick the drinking habit—the truth, he thought, was that this business just wasn't healthy if you stayed in it too long.
The best way to think about it, Jefferson decided as he paused outside of his office, was to think of Logan as being free. Free to be the Pokémon he always claimed he'd be back in high school, when their dreams of the future were all they could see it ever turning out to be. He could enter the Pokémon league, buy a house, maybe even get married someday… accomplish the dreams he and Jefferson had forgotten.
Heaving a large sigh, Jefferson braced his forearm against the doorframe and leaned his head into it, allowing himself a moment of privacy. Looking down at the floor, he allowed a subdued smile to curve his lips. "Bye, Logan," he muttered. "Hope you're happy, man… wherever you are." Jefferson straightened up and walked into his office.
EPILOGUE
Six months of Elysian peace descended upon the quiet house nestled at Mount Iron's foot. In swell of relief that trailed in the wake of such intense events, it was surprisingly easy to commit the entire incident with Team Rocket to memory and give in to leisure. Even while Logan was confined to a wheelchair while his thigh slowly healed over a two-month period, he and Rasha found it quite easy to soak in the so often taken for granted bliss of normality. Logan continued to live with Rasha. His independence was never discussed, and once his thigh healed he began working part-time at the Pokémart to cover his medical bills. He hated the job and would come home full of complaints; Rasha grew tired of it, but secretly withheld the suggestion that he allow her to support him. In truth, the funding for Rasha's research had dried up, and her own needs were draining enough. She started a job as a waitress to make ends meet, but knew she couldn't keep it up—she was uneasy and unfulfilled, and needed to get back to work.
In these six months, Logan had grown restless as well. He never said anything and she never asked for fear of the answer. But Logan's passion remained embedded in his training, and although Rasha made a fierce attempt to satisfy him through constant battles, he had only seen two gyms. It wasn't fair to him. Yet Rasha squashed that yap of conscience into the back of her mind, procrastinating in facing the truth until she could no longer stand to see her comrade drag himself home from the Pokémart each night.
And at last, the inevitable day dawned, and she found herself lingering in the kitchen, bags laden with food and supplies in her hand, while Logan waited outside for her to see him off.
The morning had dragged and raced at alternative intervals. Both had stretched it out as long as they could. Rasha simply couldn't fully cope with the thought of not seeing Logan again. Logan knew it, she thought. Even in the face of his greatest ambition, he seemed quiet and reluctant to set foot outside her door.
As she pushed the door outward with her shoulder and emerged into the great spills of golden light outside, Rasha tried to force a furtive chuckle to herself. Well, things will be easier now, she lied. I mean, he's still rude, and lazy; he still doesn't clean up after himself, and he… She couldn't even finish. In her heart, Rasha knew that the root of everything that tumbled cyclone-like inside her skull was that she had grown fond of Logan. In fact, she'd grown much too fond of him.
Logan was silent; a wooden pole—he stood still and let Rasha approach him, burdened with the bags she'd obsessively filled for him in his leaving. His eyes fell under shadow in the cavities beneath his brows, bringing to mind an endless night of staring long ago—back to when the destiny that now ripped him away had brought Logan to Rasha's home. Rasha's throat was horribly constricted, and she thought, If I just don't have to talk, I'll be all right.
Logan's head dipped slightly and he eyed the four bags swinging from Rasha's forearms. "Seems like a lot," he said. His movements and words were performed slightly, as if he thought the air might shatter under normal strain today.
Rasha nodded and tried to swallow despite the tightness of her throat. "Just concerned," she managed in a horrid monotone that made her shudder with distaste. His dark eyes were suddenly unbearable and she had to look at his feet. "I—"
Logan lunged forward then—wildly, as if by some desperate impulse—and his mouth fused over hers in a hard kiss. Rasha sucked in her breath in surprise and fright; her jaws parted and she felt Logan's warm tongue slide over hers. The kiss softened into a caress; her eyelids fluttered shut and suddenly the setting sun's light was something warm and liquid that enveloped her cold, empty body. She seized him and held him against her, keeping him where he was, and probed her tongue into the searing cavity of his mouth. Tears spilled over her lower eyelids unheeded; they ran into the intertwined lovers' mouths, adding a flavor of sadness to the kiss. The world around them blanked—everything that had been in progress seconds before no longer existed; the universe consisted only of this beautiful fragment of warmth and desperate, yearning passion.
The kiss lasted for several seconds and ended at a gradual length. Rasha remained embalmed in that glorious, passionate heat until, little by little, the evening breezes slithered between her lips and Logan's to notify her of the space that had reopened there. Her eyes reopened gradually, too, and Logan's face floated before her, lit with an inner glow of bursting joy, the blankness in his eyes banished by a wildly dancing spark. His hand lingered on her cheek, and tenderly he wiped her tears away with his thumb. Then he dropped his hand and picked up the bags, which had found their way to the ground. He shouldered them, and when he had control of them all he turned and his mouth split in an uncontrollable smile.
"See you," he whispered.
Rasha stood, lips slightly parted, until at last her throat moved of its own accord, "See you later."
The sun lined Logan's hair in threads of gold as he walked into its glow. He never looked back, and even though Rasha was aware of it, it didn't bother her. When at last he had faded from her sight, she returned to her home with her first kiss tingling on her lips and the sound of Isaiah's happy whistles ringing in her ears.
***
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, I've finally done it. I know it's taken me quite awhile, but after several months of writing I've completed my first fanfic. I for one am happy with the way it turned out, and I hope I've satisfied you as well. The ending was pretty open, I know, and I intended it to be that way—open endings leave endless possibilities for sequels, and if an idea comes to me I hope you'll read and review again.
Of course, I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. Like I said, this was my first ever attempt at fanfiction and I was very happy to receive positive feedback on it. Thank you all so much!
Thanks to Pichachu—without you around to pressure me, I wouldn't have gotten it done. LOL, j/k. Thanks for all your support.
A very special thanks to Adri-sama… without you, this idea probably would have never left my brain. I love ya!
Thanks to any Monsoons that might be reading this, just for reading.
Well, that's all I have to say for now. Thanks again to everybody, and I hope to see you again.
~Mírkana Falcon~
The compound where Team Rocket imprisoned their most dangerous captives lacked guards. Instead, a five-foot fence strung with alternating strands of barbed wire and smooth wire surrounded the entire area. It kept the Pokémon from escaping and robbers from intruding, as the smooth wire delivered an electric shock when touched.
What he was about to do was somewhat less than inconspicuous, so Logan carefully checked the entire area before he reached for his Pokéball. Someone might still be able to spot him from the building 50 yards away—it was very dark, but there were no trees. However, there was nothing much Logan could do about that. Anyway, he thought, he had better get started. If Rasha and Falcon had already caused some mayhem inside the building the chances of his being spotted were very low, but a rogue watchman that happened to notice a lot of movement in the dark could radio for help in seconds. And that, Logan thought, would be the end of that.
"Okay, Opal," Logan whispered, releasing his magnificent Onix. "Use your horn to cut through this wire."
Opal rumbled softly in her throat. She arched her long neck and carefully moved the stone horn on her head beneath the bottom row of wire. Opal then raised her head, the boulders that made up her body creaking as she strained against the wires' resistance. Then they gave with a mighty twang; Opal's head flew skyward as sparks flew, hissing and crackling, to the grass.
"Good," Logan whispered, withdrawing Opal. He stepped hesitantly over the ruined wires and began to walk across the treeless plain. From the air, Logan realized, it would've actually been quite easy to spot in the middle of the forest. On the other side of the cleared space, Logan could see the silhouettes of three long, low barns. During the day, only Pokémon that the electric fence couldn't stop—rock-, ground-, and flying- types—were kept inside. At night, though, all creatures were penned. If Isaiah was in this area, he would be inside one of the barns right now.
Walking toward the barns, Logan passed an enormous swimming pool. Basically a deep concrete pit, the pool measured about 200 yards by 200 yards. Its bottom lay more than twenty feet away; Logan also saw another electrified fence encircling the entire thing. However, nothing stirred inside the pool and, wondering if it was empty, Logan wandered over to the fence and looked in. At first he saw nothing—not even the bottom of the pool, it was so deep—but then he thought he saw a sinewy shape writhing beneath the waves, growing bigger…
Logan yelped and fell backward as the creature's head broke the water—a dark, yawning maw ringed with glistening white teeth. For a moment, the Gyarados regarded Logan's small form with its slit-pupil eye. Then, with a long, low wail, it slipped back beneath the surface with nary a ripple.
Getting control of his legs again, Logan left the pool quickly and approached the row of barns. They were steel-sided structures with pointed tin roofs covered with sod and tree branches. A heavy lock hung from the door. Once again, Logan picked the lock with his trusty paperclip and entered the dark barn.
Despite the small windows that lined the barn's back wall, Logan could see nothing but dark shapes. The sound of heavy, labored breathing filled the air, mingling with the smells of hay and animal wastes. Nervous, Logan freed Electra, who lit the room instantly with her Flash attack. Logan's heart quivered as a sleeping Rhyhorn awoke with a roar; in the adjacent stalls, he heard the cries of other Pokémon the light had disturbed. The Rhyhorn lunged forward and Logan leaped back as if to run, but the Rhyhorn jerked to a stop before it had gone a foot. When he looked at the Pokémon more closely, he saw that an iron collar had been fastened around its thick neck. A heavy chain connected the collar to a metal pole in the back of the stall.
Logan felt bad, but resolved to ignore the conditions until he found or didn't find Isaiah. He and Electra walked up and down the row of stalls twice. All the Pokémon they saw were large rock-types—Rhyhorns and Rhydons, Gravelers, even an Onix that could barely fit its coils inside the narrow accommodations. Logan left the barn, deeply inhaling the fresh night air before he moved on to the next structure.
Falcon pushed the white door open and fumbled for a light switch. Glaring fluorescent lights flickered into life above her head, illuminating the panes of glass that lined three sides of the narrow room she'd entered. The radio at her belt came alive with static-distorted voices, which Falcon took to mean she'd have company soon. She just wanted to have a good look at this room before she left.
Abra began to wriggle in her arms; Falcon set him down and let him walk around on his own. Stepping further into the room, she peered into a cage on the middle row of the room's right-hand wall. Slumped against the back corner lay a gently quivering, amorphous blob—a Ditto. Its skin looked discolored—an strange gray-purple rather than the glowing pink of a normal Pokémon—but proved it was still in good spirits as it pressed itself against the glass and smiled at Falcon with its cartoony little face.
"Abraaa," Abra hissed softly, placing his three-fingered hands against a cage on the bottom row. His wise, crescent eyes closed thoughtfully as he spoke mind-to-mind with the creature inside. Falcon leaned down and looked; another Ditto. In fact, every cage in the room held a Ditto, each one a different size and each with its own unique shade of pink or purple.
What's going on? Falcon mused. Dittos… what could Team Rocket want with so many Dittos? What kind of experimentation are they conducting?
Abra stiffened, and Falcon too heard the footsteps racing down the hall. Falcon looked sadly at the happy little face smushed against the glass, wishing there was something she could—
Quite suddenly, Falcon noticed the ominous hum in the air. She covered her face just in time as the windows shattered. A hail of glass cascaded down; the beads struck Falcon but leaped from Abra's psychic aura like fleas.
With a series of soft plops, Dittos rolled out of their prisons, unaffected by the broken glass on the floor, and moved toward their new heroes. Falcon felt cool, jelly-like bodies rolling up her pant legs. She shivered as she felt one ooze down the back of her neck.
The door to the lab rattled on its hinges as Falcon's adversaries began to kick it in. She looked down at Abra, who wandered over with Dittos draped over his head and shoulders. She gently lifted her Pokémon. The thrum filled her ears again with a much more gradual crescendo than before. Another kick shook the door. Falcon leaned her face against Abra's head and felt the Dittos' cold flesh against her cheek as the room disappeared.
Rasha walked through the holding room in a stooped-over position, looking through the bottom row of cages for the second time. Cages lined every space of the room but a pathway from the door to the fire escape, and so far Isaiah had been in none of them. Having to bend down put her in a vulnerable position. She glanced nervously back at the Rockets who slept on the floor. By Rasha's watch, an unbelievably slow ten minutes had passed, and still Byron and his partner showed no signs of life. Zelda stood watch over them while Rasha searched for Logan's Zapdos. Houndour also roamed the room, sniffing madly at the cages.
The back of Rasha's neck began to prickle. She turned her head and Falcon suddenly appeared out of thin air, her Abra in her arms. Both of them were covered in blobs of pink and purple jelly.
"Isaiah's not in the lab," Falcon said. "Rockets are heading down there right now. Any luck?"
Rasha pointed a finger at a happy-faced little blob on Falcon's head. "Is that a Ditto?" she asked.
Falcon nodded. "They're all that was in the lab."
"Well, I haven't found Isaiah, either. There're so many cages in here, I haven't even seem them all yet. Can you believe how crammed this room is?"
Falcon shook her head. "Well, let's keep looking. I don't know how long it'll be before reinforcements get here. We better hurry." Falcon set Abra down and began inspecting the cages as well.
Suddenly, a glass capsule on top of a row four cages high caught Rasha's eye. She had to get up on her tiptoes to reach it. It tilted sideways as she took it down, and a muffled screech came from inside. "I found him!" Rasha exulted. Falcon hurried over to look. Sure enough, a tiny ball of yellow feathers huddled on the capsule's bottom. Seeing Rasha and Falcon's familiar faces, he stretched his head up and whistled happily.
"Don't worry, Isaiah, we'll get you out of here." Rasha tried to twist the top off the capsule; it stuck tight.
Falcon walked over to Abra and picked him up, carrying him back over to Isaiah. "Abra, do you think you have enough energy for one more psychic attack?" she asked the Pokémon aloud. "I know you're a little drained after rescuing the Dittos, but just try once more and then you can rest." Abra nodded.
Rasha set the capsule down in the middle of the floor and backed away. Abra approached it and laid his paws on the glass. Psychic energy buzzed in the air, then diminished to a dead silence. At first, Falcon thought Abra's strength had given. Then all at once, a noise like a gunshot went off, and the capsule's top broke open.
Rasha reached in and pulled Isaiah out, scratching her arm on the hole's jagged edges, while Falcon returned the exhausted Abra to his Pokéball.
A knock came to the door just then. Rasha and Falcon froze, perfectly silent.
"Hello? Byron, Natasha, are you in there?" The Rocket knocked again. They heard him mutter to his comrades, "They're not there. Break it down."
BANG! The door shook violently as the Rockets struck it again and again. Quickly and quietly, Rasha and Falcon ran to the fire escape, the frightened Dittos crawling up into their clothes as they went. Pichu scooted down inside Falcon's jacket and buried his face in her neck. Falcon yanked the window open—there wasn't really any point in being stealthy now, anyway—and she and Rasha stuck their heads out. Down at the bottom of the fire escape, five Rocket guards looked up at them.
The girls pulled their heads in and slammed the window. Each deafening kick to the door rang off the holding room's walls. Rasha and Falcon looked at each other with mutual fear. They couldn't teleport out, and now their only escape was blocked. In minutes, the Rockets would swarm in on them.
BANG! One kick closer to getting in. BANG! BANG! BANG!
Logan backed fearfully away from the roaring, angry Kangaskhan until he remembered all the Pokémon in here were chained into their stalls. Still, he made sure to stay at least three feet out of her chain's limit. The Pokémon roared angrily, churning the earth with her tree-thick clawed feet. Only when she lay back down did Logan dare venture farther into the shed. He looked up and down the stalls again—two more Kangaskhan, a Fearow, two Tauros. No baby Zapdos.
Logan left the shed, suddenly sure he was wasting his time here. Isaiah may have been a Zapdos, but he was just a baby. He doubted Team Rocket was nervous enough about him to chain him up in a metal shed with monsters like these. He looked back toward the Rocket building and saw, to his dismay, the frenzied dance of guards' flashlights. Falcon and Rasha could be in trouble back there, he thought. Maybe he should give up the search here as futile and go back for them. Perhaps, he thought, one of them had already found Isaiah. He could only hope.
As he closed the shed's door, Logan heard a low, rumbling wail from the direction of the pool. He shuddered, reliving the image of the Gyarados' head busting through the water's surface. Even with the electrified fence, he didn't like having the dragon Pokémon so near to him. Then Logan's ears picked up another sound—the sound of feet shuffling through the coarse grass.
Logan whirled around. Another man stood before him, his hair hanging over his eyes, his unzipped leather jacket drifting about his waist.
"Seems you decided to come back after all," the man said, his teeth flashing in a cruel smile. "I knew you and I would see each other again."
Logan felt his mouth tighten. Electra moved forward, her glowing body casting a faint light on the man's face. "Gordon," he said. "Just out of curiosity, how did you know to come look for me here? Or have you just been searching the entire compound for me?"
"I hardly needed to," Gordon said, his brown eyes flashing beneath overhanging locks of hair. "Simple process of elimination. And since the holding room and the lab were already covered…" Gordon's grin broadened, "…I just figured someone had to be out here."
"How clever of you," Logan said pleasantly. "No time for chatting with old friends, though." He brushed past Gordon and began walking briskly across the grass.
"Hold it, Matthews," Gordon called.
Logan turned around. "Yes?"
"Nothing personal," Gordon said. "But I worked very, very hard to set up that heist. I can't let you back in there."
Logan's hand knotted around a Pokéball. "Well, then we have a problem, don't we?" he growled, detaching it from his belt.
Gordon removed a Pokéball from his belt. Logan faced him confidently—he had always been the better trainer. Perhaps that was why Gordon hated him so.
"Voltorb!" Gordon cried, breaking the grand pause as he threw his Pokéball.
Logan reacted, his arm snapping forward. Weaver spilled out of his Pokéball, mandibles clicking, to face Gordon's round electric Pokémon.
"Weaver, Agility," Logan said, relying on his experience battling Gordon in the past. Voltorb moved quickly and had the ability to paralyze, but it didn't have a lot of stamina. If he could make it waste its electrical energy, it would be an easy win.
Gordon's reacted in perfect accordance to Logan's plan, too. "Voltorb, Thunderwave!" The round Pokémon spun furiously, throwing electricity here and there, aiming for the tiny six-legged whirlwind that blazed around and around it. It fired six times in succession before coming to a stop.
"Poison Sting!" Logan ordered calmly. Weaver fired a barrage of needles at Voltorb—hopefully, Logan thought, poisoning him and speeding the battle along. He was anxious to get back to the building and see how Rasha and Falcon fared.
"Rapid Spin, now!" Gordon said.
Voltorb shook off the Poison Sting attack and began to spin furiously. Weaver hopped to the side and fired at Voltorb's back when it zoomed by. The needles knocked Voltorb off its course; it spun out of control and came to rest on its side.
"Now, use a Giga Drain to finish!" Logan said.
Weaver raced forward and pierced Voltorb's enamel-hard shell with his mandibles. Green light flashed in the darkness. Weaver pulled away; Voltorb fainted.
"Return!" Gordon spat. "I see you haven't shirked on your training, Logan."
"Of course not. My Pokémon are my family… a concept a lowlife such as yourself could never hope to understand."
"You hypocrite," Gordon retorted. "You may be stronger than me, but I remain loyal to the family that puts food on my plate… a concept a traitor such as yourself could never hope to understand."
"What you call family is no more than a syndicate of greedy bastards working together for their own purposes," Logan said. "But I'm through wasting my breath on you. Goodbye."
He walked away from Gordon, his stride hasty and anxious as he hurried toward the building surrounded by prowling guards. Stay hidden, Rasha, he thought. For Gods' sake, stay—
The earth shook and Logan felt steamy breath on his legs. A rocky behemoth crouched behind him, pawing the earth with legs whose bones were harder than steel. It lowered its head into a charge position, forcing Logan to freeze.
"No… so sorry, Logan, but I just can't let you go," Gordon said. "I just worked too damn hard for this to let a treacherous son of a bitch take everything away from me."
Logan felt his face burning with rage; he had to fight to keep his trembling arms from reaching for the seizure rifle. "Bastard," he snarled. "That's not even your Pokémon."
"It is, because it's my family's Pokémon," Gordon snarled. "Bet you wish you were still a part of us."
Falcon struck the first man in the doorway in the stomach and flung him into the woman behind him. Rasha's Houndour tore viciously at a second man's leg while Rasha struck him across the face. Falcon charged around the corner and dashed madly down the hall, her arms wrapped tight around the little Zapdos, while Rasha ran in the opposite direction.
Someone came out of a doorway. Falcon blew past him, knocking him into the wall as she ran. The man gave chase, shouting into his radio as he ran. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a male and female Rocket a yard behind him.
Falcon skidded around a corner. There were elevators, but they'd take too much time. She saw rails down at the very end of the corridor, indicating a stairway. She dashed madly toward them, her cargo pressed tightly against her chest.
The man from the doorway charged straight into her and down they went. She flailed with her left elbow, holding Isaiah close with her right hand. A lucky shot found his eye. By now, the other two had found her. The man she'd hit and the woman tried to restrain her arms while the other man groped her, trying to locate Isaiah. She kicked hard and low; he went down and she ripped her arms out of the others' grip. She dashed madly down the stairs, but her pursuers didn't follow. As she half-fell, half- ran down to the first floor, she heard the Zapdos' shrill screams echoing behind her.
The Rhyhorn charged furiously, throwing chunks of earth out behind it like a bulldozer. Opal met it head-on with a Tackle; the two ground their heads together fiercely, roaring and snarling to wake the dead.
"Go to hell," Logan snarled at Gordon. "And take your family with you."
"Fury Attack," Gordon ordered tersely.
The Rhyhorn broke contact with Opal's head; the Onix's neck shot forward like a jack-in-the-box. Rhyhorn leaped at Opal, bashing into her with its sharp horn. It struck her again and again, gouging her neck and head while she roared in pain.
"Opal, use Harden! Get up and out of its range!" Logan cried. Opal's body flashed. Slowly, swaying like a cattail in the wind, she began to lift her head.
"Horn Drill!" Gordon ordered.
A high whine pierced Logan's ears—was the Rhyhorn's horn spinning?—as Rhyhorn charged madly, moving insanely fast for something so huge and heavy. Opal lay, large and helpless, in its path. Rhyhorn struck with the force of a tank. Chips of rock flew into Logan's face as it bored into her.
"Return!" Logan screamed as Opal's graceful neck began to sink, and the defeated Onix disappeared.
"Rai," Electra murmured. Logan shook his head at her. Electra could only defeat Rhyhorn if the rock Pokémon happened to open its mouth. He didn't want to take that risk, especially after witnessing that horrible Horn Drill attack. Weaver, he thought, could out-maneuver Rhyhorn and perhaps blind it with String Shot. He would try that.
"Go, Weaver! Use Agility, and when you get an opening aim a String Shot at Rhyhorn's eyes!"
"Stomp, now!" cried Gordon.
Weaver wove in and out of Rhyhorn's thundering hooves. Logan felt sick to his stomach, watching the Ariados' soft red body darting in and out of that avalanche. At last, Weaver managed to back up in front of Rhyhorn and attack. A flurry of stringy ropes covered Rhyhorn's face. The Rhyhorn roared and thrashed, one eye plastered completely shut and the other obstructed by overhanging strands. It shook its head furiously, but did no more than to whip the strings around, spattering both Pokémon trainers with white flecks.
"Okay, Weaver," Logan said coldly. "Try your Giga Drain now, but be careful!"
Weaver scuttled around to the panicked Rhyhorn's back. He bit at its rear hoof, trying to permeate Rhyhorn's rocky skin while Rhyhorn stomped and roared. At last, Weaver's bite struck a nerve. The Rhyhorn's roar rose to a scream. It kicked its leg wildly, striking Weaver in the head and knocking him instantly unconscious. He flew through the air, useless legs spinning in a bunch behind him, and struck the ground with a thud.
"Return!" Logan snarled.
Electra leaped forward, cheeks blazing. The Rhyhorn seemed to regain control of itself; it settled down onto all fours and studied Electra with its sole functioning eye. Then it charged, a four-legged stampede, churning the earth into froth. It raised its head, throwing all its power into the charge, and as it did so its triangular head split wide into a roar, and at that moment Electra freed the electricity that had built to a climax in her body. Once again the Rhyhorn's roar soared upward in pitch; its eyes rolled white in its head as its feet betrayed it, splaying out from under its massive, hurtling body as momentum carried it forward and into Electra like a train wreck. The Raichu's frail orange body was swallowed in a discharge of grass and mud and rock-flesh. At last, all was silent.
Gordon stood, mouth agape in the same death-loll as the Rhyhorn's. Logan cried out his Pokémon's name, "Electra!" as he rushed forward, sick with horror. He dug through the churned-up ground beneath the fallen Rhyhorn's head and drug out Electra's beaten, mud-soaked body. He wrapped his arms around her limp form and felt her heart throbbing against his forearm. A feeling of terror melded with cold relief swept over Logan like a wave.
Then there came a gasp—a cumbersome, heavy sound like the puff of a steam engine. The Rhyhorn's leg kicked, scraping at the earth until it found a grip. It swayed to its feet, huffing madly, a small, rising, mud- covered hill. Its one blood-red eye blinked away the black earth, shining like pearl and ruby out of the grime.
The earth shook, and the creature was charging him, swaying as it ran but on course. Slow to grasp the concept, Logan could never have run in time. In those moments of startling clarity before the impact he screamed out to Gordon, shouting for him to stop the monster's rampage, and then he flew, breathless, his heart discontinuing its rhythm until he returned to earth. The creature continued over him—so large it was that all feet flew past him but one, which came down on his left thigh with a crunch—the sound so much worse than the feeling at that moment—that seemed final, but in fact was only the beginning of agony. Not until the creature had fully passed did he realize the full extent of it, and then he felt he would pass out from the pain, his arms constricting defensively around Electra's body. Gordon's shadow loomed over him and his wide, triumphant eyes glowed malevolently, sharply in contrast to the shadows manifested on his face. The earth began to shake, and Logan knew Rhyhorn had doubled back. Gordon's hideous, shadow-distorted face swam in front of him.
And then, the wind began to blow… a cool, cleansing wind that came from the North. An unearthly roar accompanied it; the wind doubled in strength, whipping Logan's hair into his eyes, and then there came a roar like rushing water, drowning out the Rhyhorn's scream.
Logan opened his eyes to the sky in time to see the lithe blue body, its white markings shining brighter than the stars, soaring over his head, and he felt such a tranquil, stilling awe settle into him that the pain in his crushed thigh was momentarily forgotten.
Suicune uttered a low growl. Gordon, the triumph cast from his eyes, backed away in fear. "It… can't be," he whispered.
A hissing sort of gunshot rang out just then; Gordon's face convulsed and he yelped in surprise as a condensed bolt of light struck him in the neck. Milky white filled his eyes as he crashed to earth.
"A bit hasty, Damon," a silky female voice behind him said.
"Won't kill th' bastard… jus' knock him out," another voice, coarser and male, replied. "Don't do to have witnesses. Usin' a Pokémon like that around Rockets…"
"I know." Suicune disappeared into his Pokéball, and then Falcon knelt next to Logan. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Logan nodded stiffly. "I think my leg could be broken." Then he added, "What's going on?"
"The Rockets are onto us. They're swarming the building like ants," Falcon said gravely. "We have to go back for Rasha."
Logan's heart fluttered. "Is she okay?"
"I don't want to worry you, but she's sorely outnumbered." Turning to her companion, who still stood back where Logan couldn't see him, she said, "Damon, bring the car around, okay?"
"I'll hafta see if I can git through that fence," Damon said, jogging off. "Sit tight!"
Giovanni rose eagerly as the door to his office opened. Minutes earlier, two Rocket teams had broken into the holding room. Mirkana Falcon, he was disappointed to learn, had escaped. However, according to Gregory Black—who was in for a big promotion, Giovanni thought, along with George Kerrigan, Rachel Forman, and Sandra Brady—radioed in with the news that the Zapdos had been reclaimed. Now the four stepped into his office, sure enough, grasping a screaming bundle of yellow feathers.
"Excellent, excellent!" Giovanni praised his beaming subordinate. "Well done, all of you!"
"Thank you, sir," Black replied.
"Thanks to you, we have not lost another legendary Pokémon," Giovanni replied. "I'm sure you can all be expecting promotions for this display of professionalism in a time of crisis." He paused for the chorus of pleased exclamations from the group. "However," he said. "I'm interested to know where the esteemed Ms. Falcon is now?"
Rachel Forman spoke up. "She fled down the east staircase, sir. After that, there were no more reports of her."
Giovanni nodded, peeved not for the first time at Falcon's annoyingly successful ways of getting in and out of buildings. Had she just run out the front door? He'd have to have a long talk with those guards once all this fuss was over with.
"But at any rate, sir, we managed to take back the Pokémon before she gave us the slip," Black said, his boyish face twisting into a cheeky sort of grin that Giovanni found irritating. "We nabbed the little guy and she ran off without even knowing it." He held the squirming Pokémon up for Giovanni to see.
Giovanni nodded. "Yes, and I suppose that's what's impor—"
He had to stop short, because all of a sudden the Zapdos began to melt in Black's hands. The young Rocket looked confused at Giovanni's startled expression. Then all of a sudden the liquefying yellow mass slipped through his hands like Jell-O, landing on the floor with a sickening plop as it continued to lose shape. Its orange beak disappeared, becoming a simple little face that smiled up at Giovanni. Black shouted and stooped to grab the creature, but it slipped under his hands and, moving absurdly quickly, squeezed through the gap beneath the door.
The four Rockets stared at the door with stupefied expressions. Then they turned back to the livid Giovanni.
"FOOLS!" he roared, making them all cringe like whipped dogs. "Can't you even tell a Zapdos from a Ditto?!"
The Rockets looked at one another, not daring to answer.
"Get out!" Giovanni roared. "Find Mirkana Falcon and the other intruders, and bring me the real Zapdos chick! And make absolutely sure it's the real one, or you'll be in a world of hurt!"
With a collective squeak of "Yes, sir!" the four Rockets scuttled out of the room.
Flashlights beamed obtrusively out of the black-canvas background, blinding Rasha as she hurtled forward. She stopped and raised her hand. Seeing the guards beneath what could have been miniature suns, they seemed so bright, Rasha turned to go back the way she came. However, the guards that had chased her into this bunch closed in from behind. Rasha began to feel trapped and panicky. While they formed a semi-circle around her, keeping their blinding lights on her face, she snapped out her seizure rifle and aimed it at the line of Rockets. "Don't move!" she screamed. She intended to sound intimidating, but her voice emerged dismayingly shrill. The unimpressed men and women pressed in closer.
Rasha wrapped her forearm tighter around her middle, supporting the real Isaiah, who hid inside her shirt. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could Pokéballs in the grips of many Rockets.
A man grabbed her roughly by the arm as she stood stupidly, unable to figure a way out. "Put your hands up where we can see them," he ordered. Frightened, Rasha whirled around and struck him by accident with the weapon. He shouted in pain and clutched his nose; the rest of his entourage pressed in closer, and another set of hands closed around her other arm. She struggled furiously as they swarmed over her, trying to grab for her Pokéballs. One of her flailing hands managed to knock one free. It opened. A woman screamed in pain as Bayleef flogged her with her vines. While the rest were distracted, she shook free and barreled through the crowd. The roar of a mob followed her and soon inhuman cries of Pokémon joined them. The cold night air felt sharp in Rasha's lungs as she ran; she held Isaiah firmly, her heart and mind racing. A dark wall of trees danced in front of her. She could make it into the trees and escape. She'd hide until morning; no one would find her in the dark and… why suddenly did her legs feel so weak?
Rasha fell, somehow thinking to roll to her side so as not to crush Isaiah. But she couldn't get up again. Her muscles felt like broken rubber bands. She heard a Weepinbell's voice behind her and realized it had probably used Stun Spore on her. Tears of frustration came to her eyes as Logan's picture danced before her eyes. She'd failed him… utterly failed him. After everything, it would end here outside the Team Rocket building. A wall of hands pressed in on her body; an unstoppable injustice that she couldn't fight in any way. She felt helpless… useless… and alone.
All of a sudden, a bright light shone in her eyes. Something landed in the dirt—a stone? she thought. A man screamed into her ear and she felt a droplet hit her cheek. Another fell in the dirt where she could see it… blood.
The next few minutes, when she later recalled them, were nothing but a blur. She heard a sound like a rain of arrows and was aware of Isaiah's squirming against her. Hands clawed at her clothes, and then the feeling of strong arms wrapped around her against her cheek. The man carrying her practically shoved her through a car door before leaping into the driver's seat himself; Rasha's head bumped against a seat as the car lurched forward like a stung horse. "What… what's going on?" she croaked at last.
"Rasha…" she heard a familiar voice say. She looked into the back of the car and saw Logan stretched out across the back seat, one leg supported by a rolled-up blue jacket.
"Logan!" she said, trying to sit up before she remembered the Stun Spore. Then she felt arms pulling her upward.
"Close your eyes," Falcon ordered, aiming a tiny aerosol can at her. Rasha obeyed and Falcon proceeded to spray a fine mist over her whole body. While she worked, she said, "This is Paralyze Heal. We saw a Weepinbell attack you."
"Yeah," Rasha said. The muscles in her face already felt stronger. Isaiah squirmed inside her shirt when Falcon sprayed him, reminding her that he was there. When the strength returned to her arms, she pulled him out and gave him to Logan.
"Isaiah!" Logan gasped, taking the little Zapdos in his arms. He looked at Rasha with an expression of eternal gratitude. "Thank you, Rasha."
Rasha smiled at him. "What happened to your leg?" she asked.
"A Rhyhorn," he replied with a grimace.
Rasha climbed—a bit shakily on her Stun Spore-weakened limbs—into the backseat. She lifted Logan's head and sat in the seat where it had been, laying him back down in her lap. Logan couldn't have kept her from doing it even if he'd wanted to. The warmth of Rasha's body permeated his clammy skin. Isaiah's soft body curled up against his neck. He closed his eyes and relaxed, ignoring the speeding car's jerks and bounces and even the pain they brought to his broken leg.
While Logan rested, Rasha looked up and happened to catch a glance at the driver's face in the rearview. "Hey!" she gasped in shock.
"What is it?" Falcon asked, turning around.
Rasha pointed in disbelief. "I recognize you!" she said. "You're the guy from the Pokémart!"
"What?" Logan opened his eyes and raised his head, studying the thin- faced man with his ratty shadow of a mustache.
"Come to think of it, there's something else familiar about you, too," Rasha thought out loud.
The man Falcon called Damon laughed. "To tell you the truth, Miss Rasha, I've been keepin' an eye on you for some time now," he confessed.
His accent rang a bell in Rasha's mind. She remembered that fateful day in the Pokémon Center, when she had waited for Logan in the waiting room. "Joel!" she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Joel?" Logan inquired. "Do you know him, Rasha?"
Falcon cut in before Rasha could reply. "His name is Damon, and he's a friend of mine. He isn't a thief or a spy—I asked him to keep an eye on you."
"You, Falcon?" Rasha exclaimed. "But why—"
"Uh-oh…" Damon adjusted the review mirror and then Rasha saw the reflection of his eyes staring at her. "I'll explain everthing later. Right now, looks as if we're bein' followed."
Rasha jerked her head around. A line of single headlights danced in a line behind the car. As soon as she saw them, Rasha could faintly hear the drone of motorcycle engines. The bikes' cycloptic headlights grew brighter and brighter, until she could see the Rockets' faces in the splash of the car's rear lights. They swarmed the car, inching steadily up along its sides like jackals surrounding a wildebeest.
"Buckle up," Damon gritted.
Too late in reacting, Rasha couldn't secure her seatbelt before Damon floored the car. She flew forward, her head bashing into the seat in front of her. Pain shot into her neck. She recovered and snapped her seatbelt on with shaking hands.
The Rockets' bikes fell behind and then began matching pace, dancing in a horribly dangerous fashion around the car. Damon drove blindly, unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. Rockets near the car's sides drew stun weapons and beat the vehicle with them. Damon swerved, trying to shake them. The car's side dinged a Rocket that got too close; he flew out of control and rolled end over end into the line of trees.
Logan couldn't see what was going on from his position; he shivered with Isaiah pressed against his chest, feeling exactly as Isaiah looked—a small, helpless, quaking ball of terror. His face scrunched up into knots of pain as his leg jarred against the car's door. Blood ran over his lip as his teeth involuntarily dug into it.
A gunshot smash rang out. One of the car's front headlights went dark. Damon swore madly, his face contorted and livid. The vehicle veered from side to side; its bumper struck another bike's fender, sending him tumbling off the road, and when Damon looked up he saw the car's one good eye highlighting the curve in the road. He slammed the wheel to the side. Caterwauls rose from without and within the vehicle; a woman's head with rolling eyes struck the window briefly, eliciting screams from the passengers, and disappeared in a grotesque, lolling fall. The car rose onto two wheels and skidded around the corner, its balance an instant failure at that speed. A desperate reflex seized Logan and he rolled over, covering Isaiah with his body as the horizon spun a three-sixty outside the window. Pain shot through his head and a typhoon of screaming metal surrounded him.
Silence came slowly and as a shock. Like a rebooting computer, Logan's mind ever so slowly pieced together the scene. The pain in his leg came into focus and rose to a sickening crescendo that threatened to overwhelm him. Rasha's hair swayed down into his face; he looked up to see her still secure in her seatbelt, still sitting in her seat. His heart pounded wildly. How many of them had survived? Isaiah wailed miserably, drawing blood from his arms as he struggled in wild fright.
The car's left window exploded just then. Glass flew onto Logan through the curtain of Rasha's hair; he heard her gasp of fright. An arm entered the gaping hole. Its gruesome hand—Logan didn't think of it as a human appendage, just as a hand with its own mind and will—clamped around Isaiah like a vice. Logan, impervious to panic in his state of shock and agony and confusion, watched with dim, uncomprehending eyes. Through the mist, he heard a sharp crackle and what he later realized was a human howl of pain, and Isaiah dropped back onto his chest. Logan's traumatized mind was at last overwhelmed, and he shut down.
It took Rasha's mind several minutes to realize what had happened. At first, all she could perceive were bright lights shining through the cars windshield and a horrible, continuous wail that made her temples throb. However, she was unable to identify either. Presently she realized she hung upside down from the ceiling, her seat belt holding her in place. Her position offered her a view of the front seat. She could see Falcon hanging lifelessly, her back resting against the back of the seat and her legs dangling freely so that she had almost folded in half. Damon's condition seemed just as uncertain, but before she had worried long a hand shattered the window near her head. Pieces of glass gouged her face—she prayed they would miss her eyes—and then she heard a sharp crackle and a scream. When the moment had passed for several seconds, she became aware of voices outside. Opening her eyes slowly—her head and neck both caused her great pain, and the lights and noise only magnified it—she saw a face peering through the window. She stared, allowing her mind to absorb information. The woman she saw had blue hair and wore a blue uniform. All of a sudden her mind realized that the awful noise was the police car's sirens.
"Ma'am, are you all right?" the young officer asked in a concerned tone.
Afraid to nod, Rasha groggily said, "Yes."
"Don't worry! We'll get you out of there in a second!" The officer pulled up a bullhorn and shouted, in a voice that made Rasha cringe, for someone to call the paramedics.
The next sequence of events blended together in an unintelligible jumble. The paramedics somehow got everyone out of the car. No one had died; Falcon and Logan were unconscious and would be taken to the hospital. Something the young female officer said finally caught Rasha's ear:
"This man is dressed in a Team Rocket uniform," she said. "Could these four have been involved with the others we arrested?"
"Logan wasn't involved," Rasha said. The officer didn't hear her. She repeated herself more loudly and this time caught the officer's attention.
"He wasn't? What happened?" she asked.
Rasha gingerly shook her head, pressing her hand against her throbbing forehead. The officer seemed to understand. "We'll discuss that when you've all been treated. Right now, though, we've got to get all of you to the hospital." Rasha surrendered, allowing the officer to lead her to the ambulance. As she stepped into the back of the enormous white car, Rasha saw the men in white wheeling Logan to the adjacent ambulance. His oxygen-masked, lacerated face held the trace of a contented smile. His left hand rested on his stomach, sheltering a small yellow creature that had happily fallen asleep curled up against his savior.
All of the car's passengers suffered only superficial injuries and were quickly released from the hospital. Later, their testimony led to the arrest of the six Team Rocket members that had assaulted their car. However, the police had no luck extracting any information as the location of Team Rocket's headquarters.
Giovanni was absolutely livid when he learned of his guards' incarceration, but was even more so at their failure to recover the Zapdos. Team Rocket headquarters was hell for weeks due to his horrible mood. For much of Team Rocket, prison might have been a sanctuary.
So it was with trepidation that Barrett Jefferson nudged open the door to Giovanni's office. He expected a negative reaction, and was not disappointed. "What is it?" Giovanni snarled.
Jefferson adjusted his glasses nervously. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir—"
"Well, you are. What is it this time?" Giovanni interrupted.
Jefferson cringed, his brow covered in sweat, and continued. "If you remember, sir, Gordon Biggs was admitted to the medical facility the night of the incident?" He paused, but Giovanni didn't say anything more. "Well, he's just begun talking today, and it seems what he has to say may be of inter—"
"Quit wasting my time and just get to the point," Giovanni snapped, massaging his temples. "I don't have time to listen to irrelevant business, so if what you're saying isn't of importance, please leave. I have my hands full cleaning up after the mess all of you made."
"Yes, sir. Anyway, Biggs said that he witnessed a legendary Pokémon during his encounter with one of the intru—"
"What kind?"
"He says it was a Suicune, sir. His description sounds believable, but he was hit with a seizure rifle quite close to his head and may—"
"Did he say which intruder might have owned this Pokémon?" Giovanni cut in again. He had been pacing the room before, his large hands knotted behind his back, but now he sat and folded them on his desk, giving Jefferson his full attention.
"He said he saw a female accompanying it, sir, but he wasn't able to identify it."
Giovanni nodded and remained silent just long enough that Jefferson began to feel uncomfortable. Just when he was about to open his mouth, though, the boss spoke again. "I'll admit an investigation. Are there any unassigned teams?"
"I'll check my files, sir," Jefferson replied, hurrying out of the room. After a few minutes, he returned. "Actually, we do have a team free. Trevor Heinrich and Amanda Flores. They've been with us for three mo—"
"Yes, yes, yes. How's their record?" Giovanni asked.
"Very good, sir, all good things. They've had—"
"Good." Giovanni leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as he spoke. "Tell Heinrich and Flores they're on special assignment. They're to locate Mírkana Falcon and trail her. They're to focus their attention on obtaining the Suicune and also report any and all occurrences they deem unusual. Anything at all. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You're dismissed."
"Thank you, sir." Jefferson put his hand on the door and looked over his shoulder hesitantly before letting himself out.
Jefferson stopped for a moment to breathe once outside Giovanni's office. The hall seemed deserted; it was only him and the file folder he clutched under his arm, and it seemed he had privacy to clear his thoughts. He stared back at Giovanni's office, recollecting that secret sinking feeling in his stomach when he'd listened to Biggs rambling on and on in the medical facility. He actually reached his hand out, letting the feeling clutch at him a little. Subduing the small itch in his mind, he turned away and wandered slowly down the hall, taking his time.
Jefferson knew he ought to turn Matthews in—as an ex-Team Rocket member, his logic airily dictated, he posed more danger than any other outside enemy. He paused to look back the double doors again, but his feet refused to take him back. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and looked at the patterned carpet beneath his shiny business shoes. Yeah… he should turn in Logan… he was a traitor, after all—and not only to Team Rocket. It had just about killed him to hear Logan was dead. Logan could've at least contacted him… saved him all that grief. Here was his opportunity to retaliate a little.
Shaking his head, Jefferson continued walking. Nah, he thought. I can't sell Logan out like that. Getting left behind hurt, but who knew if Logan had really forgotten about him? And besides, deep down, Jefferson felt happy for his old friend. Inside the darkest reaches of their hearts, everyone hated the job. They hated it, but could never get away because it was all they had. Logan had broken that chain, and Jefferson felt as happy as he would have for a friend that had managed to kick the drinking habit—the truth, he thought, was that this business just wasn't healthy if you stayed in it too long.
The best way to think about it, Jefferson decided as he paused outside of his office, was to think of Logan as being free. Free to be the Pokémon he always claimed he'd be back in high school, when their dreams of the future were all they could see it ever turning out to be. He could enter the Pokémon league, buy a house, maybe even get married someday… accomplish the dreams he and Jefferson had forgotten.
Heaving a large sigh, Jefferson braced his forearm against the doorframe and leaned his head into it, allowing himself a moment of privacy. Looking down at the floor, he allowed a subdued smile to curve his lips. "Bye, Logan," he muttered. "Hope you're happy, man… wherever you are." Jefferson straightened up and walked into his office.
EPILOGUE
Six months of Elysian peace descended upon the quiet house nestled at Mount Iron's foot. In swell of relief that trailed in the wake of such intense events, it was surprisingly easy to commit the entire incident with Team Rocket to memory and give in to leisure. Even while Logan was confined to a wheelchair while his thigh slowly healed over a two-month period, he and Rasha found it quite easy to soak in the so often taken for granted bliss of normality. Logan continued to live with Rasha. His independence was never discussed, and once his thigh healed he began working part-time at the Pokémart to cover his medical bills. He hated the job and would come home full of complaints; Rasha grew tired of it, but secretly withheld the suggestion that he allow her to support him. In truth, the funding for Rasha's research had dried up, and her own needs were draining enough. She started a job as a waitress to make ends meet, but knew she couldn't keep it up—she was uneasy and unfulfilled, and needed to get back to work.
In these six months, Logan had grown restless as well. He never said anything and she never asked for fear of the answer. But Logan's passion remained embedded in his training, and although Rasha made a fierce attempt to satisfy him through constant battles, he had only seen two gyms. It wasn't fair to him. Yet Rasha squashed that yap of conscience into the back of her mind, procrastinating in facing the truth until she could no longer stand to see her comrade drag himself home from the Pokémart each night.
And at last, the inevitable day dawned, and she found herself lingering in the kitchen, bags laden with food and supplies in her hand, while Logan waited outside for her to see him off.
The morning had dragged and raced at alternative intervals. Both had stretched it out as long as they could. Rasha simply couldn't fully cope with the thought of not seeing Logan again. Logan knew it, she thought. Even in the face of his greatest ambition, he seemed quiet and reluctant to set foot outside her door.
As she pushed the door outward with her shoulder and emerged into the great spills of golden light outside, Rasha tried to force a furtive chuckle to herself. Well, things will be easier now, she lied. I mean, he's still rude, and lazy; he still doesn't clean up after himself, and he… She couldn't even finish. In her heart, Rasha knew that the root of everything that tumbled cyclone-like inside her skull was that she had grown fond of Logan. In fact, she'd grown much too fond of him.
Logan was silent; a wooden pole—he stood still and let Rasha approach him, burdened with the bags she'd obsessively filled for him in his leaving. His eyes fell under shadow in the cavities beneath his brows, bringing to mind an endless night of staring long ago—back to when the destiny that now ripped him away had brought Logan to Rasha's home. Rasha's throat was horribly constricted, and she thought, If I just don't have to talk, I'll be all right.
Logan's head dipped slightly and he eyed the four bags swinging from Rasha's forearms. "Seems like a lot," he said. His movements and words were performed slightly, as if he thought the air might shatter under normal strain today.
Rasha nodded and tried to swallow despite the tightness of her throat. "Just concerned," she managed in a horrid monotone that made her shudder with distaste. His dark eyes were suddenly unbearable and she had to look at his feet. "I—"
Logan lunged forward then—wildly, as if by some desperate impulse—and his mouth fused over hers in a hard kiss. Rasha sucked in her breath in surprise and fright; her jaws parted and she felt Logan's warm tongue slide over hers. The kiss softened into a caress; her eyelids fluttered shut and suddenly the setting sun's light was something warm and liquid that enveloped her cold, empty body. She seized him and held him against her, keeping him where he was, and probed her tongue into the searing cavity of his mouth. Tears spilled over her lower eyelids unheeded; they ran into the intertwined lovers' mouths, adding a flavor of sadness to the kiss. The world around them blanked—everything that had been in progress seconds before no longer existed; the universe consisted only of this beautiful fragment of warmth and desperate, yearning passion.
The kiss lasted for several seconds and ended at a gradual length. Rasha remained embalmed in that glorious, passionate heat until, little by little, the evening breezes slithered between her lips and Logan's to notify her of the space that had reopened there. Her eyes reopened gradually, too, and Logan's face floated before her, lit with an inner glow of bursting joy, the blankness in his eyes banished by a wildly dancing spark. His hand lingered on her cheek, and tenderly he wiped her tears away with his thumb. Then he dropped his hand and picked up the bags, which had found their way to the ground. He shouldered them, and when he had control of them all he turned and his mouth split in an uncontrollable smile.
"See you," he whispered.
Rasha stood, lips slightly parted, until at last her throat moved of its own accord, "See you later."
The sun lined Logan's hair in threads of gold as he walked into its glow. He never looked back, and even though Rasha was aware of it, it didn't bother her. When at last he had faded from her sight, she returned to her home with her first kiss tingling on her lips and the sound of Isaiah's happy whistles ringing in her ears.
***
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, I've finally done it. I know it's taken me quite awhile, but after several months of writing I've completed my first fanfic. I for one am happy with the way it turned out, and I hope I've satisfied you as well. The ending was pretty open, I know, and I intended it to be that way—open endings leave endless possibilities for sequels, and if an idea comes to me I hope you'll read and review again.
Of course, I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. Like I said, this was my first ever attempt at fanfiction and I was very happy to receive positive feedback on it. Thank you all so much!
Thanks to Pichachu—without you around to pressure me, I wouldn't have gotten it done. LOL, j/k. Thanks for all your support.
A very special thanks to Adri-sama… without you, this idea probably would have never left my brain. I love ya!
Thanks to any Monsoons that might be reading this, just for reading.
Well, that's all I have to say for now. Thanks again to everybody, and I hope to see you again.
~Mírkana Falcon~